Sleepless Night
by Ikari no Koe
Summary: Miles was no savior. #Kristoph/Miles, Phoenix/Miles, dub-con. Spoilers for Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney#
1. Chapter 1

**I swore to stop reading fanfic till I had finished this one, and it's my first multi-chaptered fic, so God help me, I'm going to post it.**

**It's supposed to take place in the night Phoenix is arrested by the murder of one Shadi Smith. As to why this exists at all, it's sort of a headcanon-exploring exercise - one concerning Miles' place in GS4, his relationship with Phoenix, Hobo!Phoenix's birth and Kristoph's feelings towards Phoenix. It's probably ridiculous, but maybe someone will like it?**

**I have it finished, so I'll just post one chapter each week till the end of January. It's going to have six chapters in total. **

**WARNING: This fic contains potentially triggering content (graphic description of DUB-CON, namely, someone coercing someone else into sex). Please, be careful. **

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><p><span><strong>Sleepless Night<strong>

**One**

It was a testimony to how much Miles owed Phoenix Wright that he did not throw his cell phone off the window the moment the female voice spoke:

"Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Wright's in trouble."

The room was dark, the only source of light being the sickly lampposts filtered through the window, casting whitish reflections on the patterns of his comforter. The display of the cell phone hurt his eyes; it said 3:00 a.m., and the caller's identification was plastered across the screen in big letters. Reading it didn't make the cold inside go away.

_At least it's not Larry_, he thought, sitting up. "Detective Skye?" he spoke through a yawn.

"Yeah, sir – sorry to wake you up." She sounded more distracted than sorry; already running through his mental inventory of suits, he could not blame her. "I just – I thought you'd like to know."

He breathed in, breathed out, braced himself. "What sort of trouble?"

"Mr. Wright – the lights are _red, _you _son of a bitch! _– sorry, sir – Mr. Wright's been arrested."

A pause – and he had put the phone on speaker before he even finished processing the information, undressing silently. "Any details?"

"Not many, no." the detective's voice was all business, irritation and caffeine. "I wanted to see him, but they said visit time is over, yadda yadda, you have your own work to do, detective, and I can't find that _idiot_ Fulbright to _ask _him about the damn investigation. They're saying Mr. Wright killed a guy over a game of poker—"

"That's—"

"—_ridiculous, _I _know, _and the worst thing is, they don't even know who the f—heck was the guy. The fop's brother told me not to worry, he's got it covered, but I don't trust that guy as far as I can throw him… scientifically speaking."

Miles paused in the act of perusing his cravats. "I beg your pardon, _who_ were you talking to?"

"The fop's brother – Kristoph Gavin. You know, _Coolest Defense in the West_ and all that shit."

The dread that had been threatening to consume him the moment the ringtone tore him off his dreams chose this moment to overtake him in full, cold and choking like ice water in his lungs.

It didn't have to mean anything, he told himself firmly. Gavin was the only licensed defense attorney in Wright's circle of "friends"… and the pianist of a seedy Russian restaurant could only afford a friend as an attorney. That he had been in the Detention Center was a logical development – not a sign that Gavin was involved in the crime itself.

He bit his lip while buttoning his vest. Somehow, he couldn't believe his own train of thought.

"Goddamnit, it's three in the morning, why are you out on a stroll?! _Get out of the way!_ I'm sorry, Mr. Edgeworth, are you still there?"

"Oh – ah – yes, Detective Skye. I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. Did – did Gavin say anything else?"

"Not reall—oh, yeah. Apparently they're going to pass the case to Payne, the fop wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole. One less thing to worry about, huh?"

Indeed. Miles was not well-acquainted with Kristoph Gavin's younger brother, but he thought some vindictiveness against Wright on his part was to be expected. Payne was also vindictive against Wright, but less smart… And, Miles reasoned, fastening the cravat around his neck, he certainly wouldn't collaborate with Gavin.

Not willingly.

"I know," Detective Skye sighed on the phone, as if she'd heard his musings. "Still doesn't look good, does it? They said Mr. Wright's pleaded the fifth about the murder, and I wonder – I wonder—"

She went quiet all of a sudden – a different sort of quiet – and Miles was unsure of what was going through her head. Somewhere along the way, she had become bitter and even more cynic than the old him, but she did know Phoenix Wright… if even she believed he had—

"…Detective Skye, you cannot possibly be thinking—"

"—He's going to be all right, isn't he, Mr. Edgeworth?"

The question caught him off-guard.

"Detective, I—"

"_Please_." And suddenly she sounded a lot more like the naïve adolescent who simply could not believe her sister had done anything wrong. "Please tell me he'll be all right. I know he didn't do it – but – but Mr. Edgeworth—"

It was childish of her to put all her hopes on him. She was a detective, and knew better than most that prosecutors could not weave miracles. Miles was no savior, no knight in shining armor out to defend Wright.

"…I'm going there," he sighed, trying to make his voice sound somewhat soothing. "I'll do everything I can to see him out."

"…Thank you, Mr. Edgeworth." The relieved sound that came through the phone was small, as if she had tried to suppress it; it carved an impression on Miles' chest. "Sir, I'll – I'll be on the lookout for more information. If anything new comes up—"

"—Please call me at once."

"Of course – use the fucking blinker,_ dumbass! _– of course I will._" _Her voice had acquired some of her detective steeliness. "Call me if you need anything – if I don't answer right away, text me and I'll call you back as soon as I can. And – and Mr. Edgeworth …good luck."

"…Thank you, detective."

He turned the phone off and started fastening his cufflinks, taking care to look his best lest any prison guard think he was some disreputable sort of attorney. He would need every ounce of his prestige to get through to Wright – there was no need to make his any job any more difficult by looking disheveled. Once ready, he moved to get up; without the detective talking, the sound of the creaking bed brushed across him like a knife.

As he opened the door to the bedroom, stopping Pess from going in with one foot, he spared a moment to feel surprised at his swiftness – he was usually a lazy riser, only regaining any semblance of reason after his first cup of tea, and he prided himself on taking some time to choose his outfits each morning. To be up and about so speedily – he'd done it before, of course, but it had never been that easy a transition.

He took a moment to wonder why and didn't like the answer at all – the thought that, maybe, he'd always been expecting something like that to happen.

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><p><strong>In my head, Ema drives like crazy, hehehe.<strong>

**Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, since I'm twenty-three and yet I still can come down with a case of chicken pox, there goes chapter two.**

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><p><strong>Two<strong>

Though his profession often demanded unreasonable hours, he could never really get used to how the city looked after twilight.

It felt a bit like the warped negative of a photo, everything you knew transformed and twisted. Bright buildings and pleasant street signs were repainted in duller shades, cut only by the garish shine of the neon lights; the strength of the crowd – that comforting sense of belonging among the masses of businessmen going to work – disappeared in the emptiness of the streets, and the thin figures who walked in that world weren't friends. Weren't safe.

More than usual, going down the street towards the Detention Center felt like diving into the metaphorical rabbit hole, and Miles couldn't help but wonder how Wright moved so easily in there, with only the night as company.

Then again, as a pianist and poker player, Wright was a part of that world now.

The thought made something tighten inside Miles' chest.

He parked the car in the Detention Center's underground garage, exactly forty-three minutes after Detective Skye placed her call. Finding where to park was easy; there were only five or so cars in there, and no guard he could see patrolling the premises. Miles gave the scene a cursory glance – no chiefs of police with bodies to store in his car around – and wasted no more time in getting out, towards the elevator. He paused only to check his cravat in his car's mirror; he needed every bit of the fearsome prosecutor persona if he wanted to see Wright before the dawn.

Fingers snaked around his wrist.

Miles whipped around to see Kristoph Gavin there, a curt fake smile on his lips as he stood by the prosecutor's car – his hand hanging limply in the air as Miles tore his wrist off his clammy grip.

"I did not mean to startle you," were his first words, and they sounded empty when the coldness of his touch was spreading through Miles like a disease. "I apologize, Edgeworth."

The prosecutor did nothing to disguise how much he'd disliked the invasion to his personal space, favoring Gavin with his haughtiest glare.

Gavin was dressed as usual, blue suit impeccable enough to impress – but not enough to stand out like the showy purple things his younger brother wore to court. The arms that had reached for Miles were now crossed; whereas anyone else would have been bothered by Miles' straightforwardness, the defense attorney's smile hadn't moved an inch.

"I thought Detective Skye would call you," Gavin said serene. "Distressed as she was, it must have seemed like a logical course."

The prosecutor had to swallow the anger back, remind himself not to pick up a fight with someone who was, for all effects, on Wright's side. "She informed me of the situation. Are you Wright's defense?"

"Naturally. He called me as soon as he realized he was, so to say, in dire straits." There was no mistaking the smugness in his voice. "I have done the best I could, of course, but there was no evading the arrest."

He couldn't understand why Gavin seemed so pleased – but there were more important things to worry about. "Perhaps you can give me details before I go to see Wright? I want to know what I can do."

The man's hand went up to adjust his glasses; his lenses reflected the fluorescent light and made him look inhumane for a second.

"Edgeworth… before you go see Wright, I need to talk to you."

'I need to talk to you' ranked among the expressions Miles hated the most; not only was it perfectly devoid of useful information, the words always seemed to carry a promised of bad things to come – things like long conversations with Detective Gumshoe about his relationship with Ms. Byrde, listening to Franziska's endless complaining, or the one time Wright called him at night, with a quivering voice—

He did not need any more bad omens that night. "What is it?"

Gavin looked to one side, then the other. The gesture had something of theatrical in it. "I don't think this is the appropriate place."

"What—"

"Do you really want to discuss details of the crime in the Detention Center's underground garage?" The defense attorney raised his eyebrows.

Miles did not find a ready answer for that, other than "No."

"Good. There's a 24 Hour café just around the corner. The tea is acceptable, and our conversation will likely go unheard."

Every instinct in Miles' body screamed there was something suspicious about all that, and the prosecutor's hands curled into fists. "Gavin, I appreciate the offer, but I really need to see Wright – I told Detective Skye I was going to check on him. We'll talk afterwards."

And, resolutely, he turned to leave – but froze in place as Gavin's hand went up in the air, stopping short of touching him.

"Wait – Edgeworth."

There was a tone of urgency in the defense attorney's voice, one Miles had never heard in all the years since he had met the man. A glimpse of Wright – a brief daydream of the Borscht Bowl Club and what Wright might have done – flashed through Miles' mind; unwillingly, unwisely, he stopped to listen.

"This is not – these are not usual circumstances," Gavin said. His expression was deadly serious. "I believe there's a lot more to this case than it seems like at first sight. When it comes to Phoenix Wright – I must say sometimes I don't know what goes through his head, and this time I – I'm afraid. I am afraid."

The fluorescent light drew strange patterns in Gavin's hand.

Those were lies. The Kristoph Gavin Miles knew would never want to look vulnerable in front of a prosecutor – let alone admit weakness or defeat. He did not know exactly where the defense attorney was leading to, but from his point of view it looked like some sort of cover-up for the real reason why he'd waited for Miles in that parking lot –a trap.

But even if it was a trap…

"Please, Edgeworth. I need to talk with you."

…how many opportunities would he get to see more into Gavin?

The defense attorney had always been an elusive figure to him – a man who for no reason at all had destroyed Wright's career, who had suddenly taken over so much of his friend's life, the dangerous opponent in Wright's never-ending last case. Miles had done his part and stayed his hand as he was asked… but there was something poisonous about that mystery, and he would not see Wright destroyed by it.

If a chance to find clues presented itself – how could he not take it?

"…Very well, Gavin. Lead the way."

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><p><strong>I was in doubt about when to split the fic into chapters, so every scene is a chapter. That's why it's so short. Chapter three has more content!<strong>

**Please tell me what you thought!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for those who wished me to get better soon! Thank god, the chicken pox is finally receding. Here is chapter three!**

**WARNING: this chapter deals with sexual offender tactics, threat and sexual extortion. Please be careful if you are triggered by these things.**

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><p><strong>Three<strong>

Miles, to put it bluntly, sucked at poker playing.

He simply lacked the patience for it, a fact that seemed to be an endless source of amusement for Wright whenever they tried to play. While Miles understood the theoretical necessity of biding your time and not showing your trumps until the right moment, he could not see the appeal in doing these things for leisure. He enjoyed games of strategy and intellect; poker's wild turns did nothing but irk him, and Wright could see through his intentions as easily as if he'd left his cards exposed.

This all ran through the prosecutor's mind when Gavin took his seat facing him in a secluded corner of the 24-hour café, and he could not help but release a weary sigh.

"Tired, prosecutor?" Gavin asked, with an irritatingly comprehensive smile. "Perhaps you haven't been sleeping well."

There was something about that insinuation Miles did not like. "My sleep schedule is fine. I'm merely not used to pulling all-nighters anymore."

For some reason, Gavin's eyes narrowed at that, and, when he said: "I think some coffee will do you good", there was just a hint of coldness to it.

He went to pick up the menu, and there was a brief consideration in Miles' head about the quantity of poison which would wind up in his coffee. Then he looked at all the other patrons – a distraught couple on the other corner, two prison guards chatting lazily over coffee, a ratty young man surrounded by books – and had to remind himself, again, not to be overly paranoid.

Silence overcame the two of them as Gavin returned with the menu and Miles wordlessly chose a cappuccino. The café's lights were of the fluorescent kind, and the prosecutor wondered why was it that Americans never seemed to get the charm that was supposed to go with the concept of cafés. He had taken to watching the eerie emptiness of the street when the defense attorney returned, one cup on each hand.

"The service could be better, but you'll find the coffee to your taste," Gavin said, oily smile firmly in place. He sat facing Miles again, and though he was making an effort to come across as pleasant – that much was obvious – his posture still looked confrontational.

As if they were opponents in a game.

It wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to Miles that night, and he wondered which would be his next step. He hated having to tiptoe around what was important, _hated _it so much, but if this _was _a game, it was one Wright could not afford to lose.

Miles knew there were few things he wouldn't do for Wright. "Have you been here all night?"

"Since the crime occurred," Gavin said, after a gulp of coffee. "He called me when he realized he would be the prime suspect. I came as soon as I could."

"Any potential witnesses? That you know of?"

"The Russian waitress, most likely. She deals the cards during the games – though am I not sure whether she actually saw the crime happening. She should have something to say, though."

"Will it help Wright?"

A twisted smile came up Gavin's lips. "Hardly."

A flicker of annoyance burned inside Miles, as he fought to grasp the situation. "She could not have seen something that did not happen. And, as I understand, the motive is flimsy."

Gavin's smile disappeared, as if Miles had inadvertently pushed its off switch. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about," he said, and took another sip of his coffee.

He then reached inside his bookcase and fished a file – a bit thinner than the sort Miles was used to, but a well-known sight just the same. He handed it to the prosecutor without a word.

Miles' hands felt safer – surer – as they held the heavy paper stock. The familiarity of the texture held a sharp contrast to the nightmare world he'd dived in since he'd woken up; his eyes felt greedy as he surveyed the documents, filing each and every word in the cabinet of his mind.

The victim had been bludgeoned to death with a grape juice bottle; Wright's fingerprints were found on it, but, considering all the fine grape juice bottles in that hellhole belonged to Wright, it was hardly any proof. The dark-skinned man's profile claimed his name to be Shadi Smith, but there was barely any information on him, and nothing that hinted at personal motive on Wright's part. Like Will Powers, he had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Looking at these files, everything seemed simple. Against Payne, Kristoph Gavin would surely win. _Any _defense attorney with half a brain would win.

"Does Wright know who the murderer is?" _Do you?_

"He says he doesn't," Gavin said, shaking his head. A smile escaped his lips, a subtle left curl on his mouth. "But then again, that _is _part of the problem."

Miles had no patience for poker.

"Just what is worrying you, Gavin?"

Gavin paused, clasped his hands, adjusted his glasses. He looked like a maître about to present the house's main dish, striving to look serious as he ran his hands through the papers Miles was holding.

"Did you get a good look at Mr. Shadi Smith's face?" he asked. The proximity of his hands had Miles repressing a shudder.

There were only photos of the man after death, his probably once rich tanned skin looking wan and pale, but now that Gavin had mentioned it, there _was _something familiar about that face. The fact that Miles could all too easily imagine the richness of that skin was strange in and of itself.

The fact that his photo seemed to be in want of something – like a different sort of hat, for example – was even stronger.

"Who is he?"

"A man who used to go by the name of Zak Gramarye."

Miles felt his fingertips going numb. Something snapped in his head.

"Gramarye?!"

And, truly, with the pink top hat and cape drawn by his imagination, it was too easy to see the specter that haunted Wright's life. The man who had left him in the middle of the fight, with a daughter and a ruined career.

A man Wright had plenty of reasons to hate.

"I did not know who to talk to," Gavin said, with all the air of someone distraught by the turn of events… yet there was something distinctly pleased about his voice. "Unlike you, rarely I have dealt with cases where my personal interests conflict so openly with my work ethics. Of course, Wright is one of my dearest friends, and yet, what he's told me…"

What? "What he _told _you – did he tell you anything?! I've been told he had pleaded the fifth!"

Gavin shot him a glance from above his glasses, before pushing them up. "Oh, he did not tell anything to the _police, _of course. But we dined together in the club this night… and he wanted to let me know he might need my assistance, after what he went through with what he was planning. He… left me quite shocked."

Miles' head was having a hard time processing all this – probably because the evident result went against his very perception of reality. "Are you saying he outright _told you_ he was going to _murder_ someone_?"_

Was that a smirk on Gavin's face, when he nodded? Miles thought so.

The prosecutor was dimly aware of Gavin opening his mouth to throw up more rubbish – probably to justify why he hadn't stopped the murder, if he had such good intel –, but his mind tuned off the words. He was still trying to process what Gavin had just told him, reconfiguring his whole assessment of the defense attorney's position in the whole mess.

This man was not on Wright's side, not even as a defense attorney.

This man was, in the Von Karma sense of the word, the enemy.

"—and, knowing him, I am confident he won't realize the man's identity. So you see, the burden of revealing the truth falls to me, and—"

"—What are you planning?"

The brusque way Miles said that seemed to throw Gavin off his speech; for a moment, he was almost able to see the many thoughts crossing the man's mind, the way his position changed in response to the shift in the game.

"What do you mean?" He said, but his eyes were glued to Edgeworth's.

Miles was not planning to keep the pretense any longer. "Wright did not tell you anything of the sort. He did not kill Shadi Smith, or Zak Gramarye, or whoever this man is. I can only assume you're lying, and I have many more productive things I could be doing with my time right now, so I will ask you, once again: what. Are. You. Planning."

Gavin's face twisted as if he was making an effort not to smile. A fruitless effort. "Surely you have considered your dear Phoenix Wright might have done it?"

"He did not—"

"Haven't you ever had the feeling," and here Gavin clasped his hands at mouth level, "that sometimes Wright is beyond your reach? Haven't you ever had the feeling that he is – a different person, that you cannot see at all what goes through his head?"

Unbidden, a flash of Wright's fingers sliding over piano keys, eyes trying their hardest to avoid his, came to Miles' mind. "I – I cannot honestly say I know everything about him—"

"Is it so hard to imagine he might have killed Gramarye? Planned it, even?"

"—but I _trust _him." He shot Gavin a scornful look. "It amazes me that you've known him all these years, and still think him capable of such a thing."

"…What amazes _me_ is that you still haven't realized Wright is not the same paragon of virtue you knew in your youth, Prosecutor Edgeworth."

His irritation was now well in the way of becoming anger; anger that he had to sit there while Wright was in person, while Wright needed his help, debating morals and his notions of him with a man who was only spouting words he did not believe in – a man who should have been on his knees begging for a chance to save the one he'd destroyed.

"I'm not delusional about him, Gavin. He may not – he _is not _the same person he was before, but he would never kill anyone. Therefore, _you _are lying."

A chuckle escaped the defense attorney's lips. "If only the judge and Mr. Payne had that same faith. I would find myself out of a job."

Belatedly, a stab of panic spread through Miles' chest. He understood what Gavin meant. "You—"

"Whom will they believe in, Edgeworth? A pianist, a poker player of the underworld, one who lost his badge at that – one that lost his badge _because _he faked evidence for the sake of the man who then abandoned him and is now lying in the morgue? Or the defense attorney of flawless reputation who is deeply conflicted, but chooses justice over his client and dear friend?"

It had been a while since Miles had felt such a strong urge to hit someone. If Gavin testified to that effect – it would be Gavin's word against Wright's, but his words would weigh heavily on a prosecutor already predisposed against Wright, and a judge who had already been swayed once… Even if Wright chose another as his defense attorney, such a testimony…

"You can't," Miles mouthed, unable to keep the words to himself. "You can't."

Gavin leaned back, raised his head a little. His lenses reflected the fluorescent light, and Miles couldn't see his eyes anymore.

"Persuade me, Edgeworth."

One of the hands the defense attorney had been holding shook loose. It slithered its way up the prosecutor's wrist.

Miles understood many things then.

He understood Gavin knew a lot more about the night's events that he had let on, and that everything leading to the two of them sitting in that café, with that clammy skin caressing his, had been orchestrated by the man himself. He understood he was looking at the man who had killed Zak Gramarye – the man who would gladly throw Wright into the line of fire if he felt he needed to, a man who was only on "Wright's side" because circumstances dictated so.

He understood what Gavin was proposing.

When he spoke, his voice shook. "…Why me?"

Gavin looked pleased, like Miles had asked the right question. "Why you, indeed."

No other answer seemed forthcoming; the defense attorney's eyes were amused, devouring each minute change in Miles' expression. Suffocating.

Miles took a sip from his cappuccino; it had long gone cold, and tasted overly sweet. Thoughts flew wildly around his head, as he tried to see a way out of the trap he had so beautifully ensnared himself into. "Even if I do concede—"

"Even if you do _persuade _me, you mean."

Before he could get a hold of himself, Miles' hand pounded the table. He could feel the other patrons' gaze turning to him; he couldn't care less. "Even if I do _persuade _you… I do not have any guarantee that you will not change your mind afterwards. Why should I go to such lengths?"

"I will write and sign you an affidavit," Gavin said promptly, as if he had it all figured out. "You can film me doing it, if you choose to. In it, I'll state that my testimony is an invention and should not be taken as truth. We can hardly notarize it, of course, but you can sign it as a witness… Though, should the occasion arise, you would probably have to talk about your techniques of… _persuasion_."

Miles' regard for the last comment showed only in the slight blush on his face; he was too busy trying to calculate what such an affidavit would mean to Wright's cause. It would certainly implicate Gavin, cast a veil of doubt over his words. If Gavin was Wright's defense, the need for another attorney would become imperative, and the trial would be postponed – Payne would not be able to get the judge to give a verdict on such a situation. A smart defense attorney would be able to get Gavin tagged as the main suspect – and Miles Edgeworth's name attached to the affidavit would only add to the ambiguity of Gavin's position. It would, of course, damage his career as a prosecutor, but honestly, if he agreed—

If he agreed…

"What do you say, Edgeworth?" Gavin pressed. "What is your answer?"

Miles barely listened. His mind turned away from the man in front of him, from the fluorescent lights making him sick. It went away, crossed time, past the piano keys and the dingy bar, past Trucy's shiny eyes and Magnifi's diary, away and away towards a day when Wright had stood in the Defendant Lobby, every bit the ace attorney he would grow into.

A day when Wright, having known a little child, dismissed the idiotic prosecutor that child had become – the idiotic prosecutor that tried to _charge him for murder _–, and risked everything for him.

_I'm going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is _innocent.

Those blazing eyes.

How could he turn away from that?

How could he live in a world where that man didn't exist, would never exist anymore?

"I—"

He had made a promise to Ema Skye. He had promised to do everything he could.

_Everything._

"I—"

How could he not save Wright if he had the chance?

"I – I agree. Yes – yes, I agree."

The expression on Gavin's face was the most peculiar one he had seen until now. It lasted the whole of a second, but it was enough for Miles to see the displeasure in it – the bitter turn of his mouth.

Then a smile came up.

"Shall we go, then?"

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><p><strong>Please tell me what you thought!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**I dedicate this fic to my poor dog, who has to listen to me singing Radioactive at the top of my lungs.**

**WARNING: this chapter contains graphic description of dub-con, a.k.a., not exactly consensual sex, a.k.a. RAPE. And definitely non-consensual breathplay. Please, if you're triggered by such things, be careful.**

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><p><strong>Four<strong>

Gavin's apartment was not very far from the Detention Center, and the emptiness of the streets was almost welcome; Miles could not abide the thought of being seen in that car, with that man. His distinct choice of suit worked against him, and he hunched forward in an attempt to make his cravat look less conspicuous – one that seemed to amuse the blond.

From the moment they chose their destination to the moment Gavin opened his apartment door, there had been no conversation. This suited Miles just fine; maybe, if they didn't talk, he could go through with this and forget it afterwards. Maybe he would be able to just go with the flow—

"Do you want a glass of wine?" Gavin asked. No such luck. "Or perhaps scotch? Unfortunately, it's too late to put some music on, but I believe I have candles in reserve—"

He stopped talking as Miles fixed on him a cold glare. A snort, and then the defense attorney was pushing up his glasses.

"No setting the mood, then?" he asked playfully.

"You and I know what we've come here to do," Miles spat. "Spare me the small talk."

Gavin laughed, an unpleasant sound if there was any. He edged closer to Miles, moving languidly; his hand ran along the prosecutor' arm, setting off pockets of panic inside his skin.

"I just wanted to make you feel comfortable," Gavin lied, "but since you seem to be so eager—"

And he kissed Miles.

It was nothing like the kisses Miles had shared before; it could hardly be called a kiss. Gavin's grip on his shoulder left him with no room to move as Gavin's tongue thrust inside his mouth, not so much exploring as taking control, trying to devour what he had to offer. No corner of his mouth went untouched, and, when Gavin finally backed away for oxygen, Miles' lips stung from the edge of teeth he had used.

"Good," the defense attorney said with a clinical tone, his eyes fixed on the prosecutor's mouth, and there was no helping the shudder that crossed Miles' spine like an electric charge.

There was no reason to protest – no place to run – so he ignored the disgust growing like mold around his heart and started doing the logical thing.

He had already thrown the cravat away – placed it carefully in a coffee table, in fact – when Gavin approached him again, seemingly entranced by the curve of his neck. Miles' hands stilled as those fingertips touched his pulse point, the man's eyes burning with enough focus to drill a hole into it.

"Let's take it into the bedroom," Gavin said, but his tone was distant.

…Wherever the man's mind had gone off to, it was back by the time they crossed the threshold to his room, as he pressed Miles into the wall and started kissing his neck, while unbuttoning his vest. Over Gavin's shoulder, Miles had a good vision of the room; it looked a bit like a picture in a furniture store catalog, everything clean and sharp and so neutral it hurt the eyes.

_Of course, _he thought absently, Gavin's fingers concentrating on the buttons of his shirt. _He would not expose himself in a place anyone could enter._

The touch of a hand against his right nipple brought him to attention.

"You do not seem very invested, Edgeworth," Gavin pointed out with a darkly amused smile.

The effectiveness of Miles' glare was undermined by Gavin's fingers pinching his nipple; the shock of that abrupt pain – the shock of the ghost of _pleasure _he felt – brought forth a groan from his lips. The defense attorney seemed very satisfied by it, by the blush on Miles' cheeks.

"Is this your first time, Edgeworth?" he asked, manhandling Miles into getting off his suit; the von Karma in Miles' head whined when everything was thrown unceremoniously on the floor, but that voice was silenced by the contrast of the fabric of Gavin's clothes against bare skin. "Have you had sex with men before?"

"I fail to see—" A gasp as Gavin pinched his other nipple. "—I fail to see how this is relevant."

Gavin's hands were working his belt now – it seemed the man was intent on seeing him naked before undressing himself. The hands slithering down his hips sent all kinds of warning signs to a body which wanted desperately to flee.

"Of course it's relevant," Gavin said, pressing his lips against Miles' collarbone. "How am I supposed to know what I should or should not do without knowing how experienced you are? Besides…" His hands – still clammy and cold, despite the flush overtaking the man's face – held Miles in place by the chin. "…are you truly in a position to be arguing relevance?"

Miles pushed Gavin aside angrily, but the defense attorney's arms closed around him in a vice-like grip. He was pressed against the wall, Gavin's body bearing down on him; his pants were shoved down, and a sinuous hand cupped one of his cheeks roughly through the thin material of his boxers. Gavin's teeth bit the prosecutor's collarbone with almost enough strength to draw blood.

The thought of Phoenix Wright was persistent, bittersweet. Miles wanted to remember him, remember who he was doing this for, but mixing that man – either the attorney or the pianist – with that situation, with that room, with _those arms—_

"Have you ever had sex with men, Edgeworth?" Gavin asked, between bites to his collarbone. He was sucking and worrying the skin between his teeth – it would leave a mark— "or is this the first time?"

Miles' pants were pooled around his ankles, trapping him under the gaze of those drilling eyes; he could not seem to find where to place his hands. He couldn't even lift his gaze from the floor.

"There – there have been others," he confirmed, his voice hurting inside his throat. "Few, tho—_aaah._"

Gavin's mouth had shifted from his collarbone to his left nipple; much to his horror, Miles felt his groin stir at the luxurious touch of the man's tongue. Gavin's suit seemed to be _everywhere._

"'_Few, though'_," the defense attorney completed with a chuckle. He started lavishing the other nipple with the same attention, and Miles was unable to suppress a convulsive movement – likely the result of wanting both to arch away and _closer. _"Only this can explain a skin as sensitive as yours."

To hear that mouth spewing such clichés made Miles' knuckles itch, but worst of all was to feel himself starting to respond in a terribly familiar way.

He tried to remind himself such reactions were normal – how many times he had sat through psychology conferences about victims of rape – but he'd never had his body so at odds with his mind – and just the thought of that, the thought of losing control like that, was enough to make him feel like a boulder had caved in his ribcage, and—

—and he was being manhandled again, tripping over his pants as Gavin led him to the king-sized bed. In a second, he was thrown there, legs splayed – in the other, Gavin was removing his shoes and socks like a babysitter minding a child.

Miles realized he had to regain some measure of control – some way of stopping himself from diving headfirst into a panic attack – and he heard his own voice when Gavin touched the magenta silk of his boxers:

"You're far too well-dressed for this."

A calm that was not his – brought, perhaps, from his father's legacy –, washed over him as he took in the slight widening of Gavin's eyes, the mouth curving in an insincere smile.

"Very well," the blond said, hands turning to his tie.

The ritual of the defense attorney's undressing was much more careful and gentle than his own, but Miles still felt a dark satisfaction in seeing him off his suit at last, casting away his polite lawyer farce. That satisfaction did not, however, make the knowing smile Gavin sported while uncovering his well-toned chest any easier to bear, nor did it soften the touch of his hands as he threw his shoes away and settled on the elastic band of Miles' boxers.

Neither of them spoke as Gavin pushed down the last barrier between himself and the prosecutor's nudity.

Instinct led Miles to close his legs – and Gavin's hands opened them again, spread them forcibly in a wanton position. A thought of what Franziska would think if she saw him like this clung to his mind with a vengeance, bringing an unwanted blush to his cheeks.

He could not help but feel weak when Gavin leaned back, taking in his whole body with a clinical eye.

"Beautiful, certainly," he said… and Miles could see the shape of his erection straining the gray fabric of his boxers.

He wanted to run.

He wanted to run, but knew he could not run, so he unthinkingly moved to the next step – maybe, if he did one things at a time, that nightmare would be over before he realized it.

"How do you want to do this?" he forced himself to ask, even though it was obvious – by the way Gavin loomed over his body like a threat – how things were going to end.

Busy as he had been fighting his many second thoughts, the prosecutor had not noticed Gavin was lost in reverie until his voice had the man startled; it was surprising to see him lean back for a second, as if trying to get back on track.

Then an unpleasant smile crossed the man's face.

"One can hardly call it proper sex without a bit of foreplay, isn't that right?" His smile grew wider. "Besides, I cannot waste such an opportunity to gauge your skills."

Slowly, ominously, Gavin lowered his own boxers.

"Suck me, Edgeworth."

Miles bit his lip.

Gavin's cock wasn't that different from the ones he had had experiences with; it was thick but average-sized, and Miles knew, from looking at it, that he had taken bigger into himself. The way it bobbed in front of him, however… Miles had always asked himself how could someone not relish oral sex, the feeling of bringing your partner to completion with nothing but your mouth. Now he guessed he had the answer.

Gavin tapped it against his cheek.

Despite his revolted stomach and shuddering spine – cold sweat descending in rivulets down his back – he moved steadily forward, and, gripping Gavin's cock by its base, pushed the head inside his mouth.

The defense attorney's breathy sigh was strangely gratifying, and the position he had chosen fit him well; on all fours in bed, mouth working to take Gavin in, he could not see the man's face unless he looked up. The hands that gripped his shoulders could be anyone's; the cock he was currently wrapping his tongue around could be Dieter's, his first, who had had the same built and that skin kissed by the sun.

The balls he caressed with his fingers could almost be—

"Your – _ah!_ – technique is better, but you – you lack Wright's eagerness."

Miles stilled.

Against his better judgment – against all rational thought – he risked a look at Gavin.

Who was smiling like the cat that ate the canary. "Why, Edgeworth, you seem surprised. Hasn't he told you about me?"

_Ignore him, _he told himself firmly. _He's just trying to get under your skin. Ignore him._

"I am surprised myself… I would have thought he would have told you, of all people. Or maybe not? Maybe he didn't want you to know anyone else had seen him like that."

_Maybe, _his mind agreed. _Maybe Wright didn't want me to know because he was in the same position that I—_

_Because he—_

"Though, of course, I _am _assuming…" And Gavin leaned down, closing a hand over his jaw and forcing his head up. "Have you ever had _him _like that, Edgeworth?"

And that _bitterness_, that confused mosaic of chances he'd never taken and things he'd never said, the tentative touches that could never lead anywhere and the gazes held just a minute too long, that feeling of being so close and so _far, _the hurt beyond belief and the apologies that had cluttered everything else when there was no way to shape the intensity of those feelings into words– it was nothing he'd ever meant for _anyone_ to see, let alone Kristoph Gavin. He had felt naked and vulnerable before but it was nothing compared to the trembling of his body as he muttered a slow:

"No."

_No. I wanted to, of course I wanted to, and we were close enough for it, once – but I was too broken, and I thought I didn't deserve it, and I ran from it in the worst of ways. When I came back, all the steps forward had backtracked and the gap was too wide and – and _you _showed up before I could bridge it._

Gavin's expression had all the characteristics of vindictiveness, but there were some nuances of it – the downward turn of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes – that painted something else behind the malice. When he grabbed Miles' hair, the following kiss had more force than necessary.

"Have you never seen him like that, then?" he asked, his voice strained, as he pushed Miles back down, pressed his length against Miles' face. "All those years, and nothing like that ever happened?"

He didn't seem to be waiting for an answer, as he himself pushed the head of his cock past Miles' lips, thrusting in and out with little care for his well-being.

"_Ah!_ – Edgeworth, I can't even begin to tell you – what you're losing." Miles tried to relax and not choke, barely managing it, and every word seemed to be branded into his skin. "It seemed like his face was – _oh – _was made to look – _to look _– to look thoroughly fucked – _oh, yes_."

Gavin shifted, pulled Miles' closer until his cock started touching the back of the prosecutor's throat. Miles gagged, coughed, and, when Gavin finally took his length out, started retching, each movement shaking the whole of his chest and throat as strands of saliva dribbled down his chin. There was hardly any time to recompose himself; he was being pulled up again, a kiss extracted from his tired swollen mouth. Gavin bit into his abused lower lip, and this time the strength was enough to draw blood.

Then Gavin rose, left the bed towards the nightstand.

Miles wanted to curl into himself and disappear; he knew well what that sound of shuffling meant for his future. He felt raw, open too wide, and wanted to retract and rebuild, to put on his suit and cravat and try to make that body come back to what he was used to think of as Miles Edgeworth. He saw himself getting up – saw himself grabbing his clothes, putting on his pants and shoes, getting the cravat and leaving, walking away from that bed forever.

But Wright.

But _Wright._

Had Gavin been lying? Had he been telling the truth?

If he'd been telling the truth – had Wright been willing? Or had it been like—

_Oh God, if it was anything like this, I swear Gavin's going to _suffer, he promised himself savagely as he felt the mattress budge from added weight, as Gavin's arms enveloped him from behind and he was pushed flush against the defense attorney's body.

"You're doing very well," Gavin said, in a voice brimming with obviously fake sympathy. "Very well. Just take it easy now – let me do the work."

The dry sound of an opening lid.

The cold slimy touch of a finger going inside.

It was like Gavin was trying to make up for the brutality from before, as the finger worked gently inside of him, caressing and exploring with none of the hunger the defense attorney must have been feeling – if the erection poking his cheeks was anything to go by. It took Miles a moment to understand why – Gavin pressed a second finger – and there was more exploring, scissoring motion, and the man crooked his fingers and touched _there _– damn it, the bastard was trying to make him _hard._

And _succeeding._

A shock of sensation ran through his whole being, bringing forth another groan from his lips, and the smile Gavin muffled against his skin did nothing to help fade the aftershocks of pleasure. A third finger slipped easily inside; back turned to Gavin, Miles was brought back to nights in Germany, exploring his sexuality in ways he had never been allowed to when he should have. The pleasure of being filled – one he had very easily realized the appeal of.

"Perhaps you should go on all fours."

Perhaps, if they had started the night like this, Miles would have felt ashamed – wouldn't have wanted to be caught in such a lewd position – but right then, he just wanted everything to be over as soon as possible. He bent, ass in the air, cock flushed and more than half-hard, all open and inviting Gavin in.

It wasn't painful – Gavin didn't bury himself to the hilt at once, and the extra lubrication provided by the condom helped ease the way. It wasn't painful to be held as Gavin started slowly thrusting in and out, shifting with every thrust in order to find the best angle.

It _was_ painful to listen to the creaking bed, as he tried to focus on something else – tried to pretend it wasn't him this was happening to. Each sound brushed across like a knife that, instead of cutting him from this world, only brought him closer to that reality where he was in Kristoph Gavin's bed, letting himself be fucked like a whore in exchange for a piece of paper.

The thrusts grew in force and speed, and more often than not they hit that spot – little ripples of pleasure weave through him, build up and up and up – Miles' cock bouncing back and forward with the movement—

"I don't _understand._"

—suddenly Miles felt Gavin pull out – and then he was being manhandled again, pushed back and forward till he was lying on his back, legs raised and supported by Gavin's shoulders while he lined up again. Gavin's glasses were askew, his lenses dirty; the look in his eyes was wild.

"You _are_ beautiful," he said between teeth, and pushed inside – all at once, and this time it was _really_ painful. "There is no denying it, but he doesn't go for beauty alone."

He started thrusting, fast and deep, with no thought to please, apparently no thought at all; Gavin was grimacing, his eyes bulging, and Miles couldn't help but ask himself if he'd looked like that when he was murdering Gramarye.

"You are definitely skilled—," a sigh, a muffled groan, "and you_ feel good, _but it's not – it's not _that _– otherworldly," another muffled groan, a trembling _oh _from Miles' own lips when the length inside of him brushed off his prostate—"not special enough, and you say _you have never been together_—"

_He's talking about Wright, _Miles thought, only half-hard now, being rocked back and forward without a shred of control, feeling like he should have planned this better.

"So _why," _and Gavin's voice was _rising_, "_why_ is he that _hung up _on _you?!"_

And Gavin's hands – Gavin's clammy, cold hands –, closed around his neck fast like a biting snake.

Before Miles could react and shake him off, those fingers were already digging into his windpipe – pressing the veins on his neck – Gavin's hips holding him in place – pushing Miles' arms downward with his elbows – and there was no leverage to kick him away – couldn't get enough strength to push – he couldn't breathe– and it shouldn't be so hard to _think _but those little ripples of pleasure had become _waves _– he couldn't _breathe _– and Gavin kept thrusting back, wouldn't stop for a second, hitting his prostate relentlessly –

"He's mine– do you understand? – do you _understand _– _aah – _I'm not letting you – _play with my possessions _– and he – can kid himself otherwise – but – _ohhh_ – he's _mine!"_

_This is how I'm going to die_. _This is how I'm going to die, strangled in a bed with Gavin's dick inside my ass. Oh, please, if there's a God out there, don't ever let Franziska find out about this. _

His whole body felt light – even as the desperation ate inside his chest – _ohhh _– Gavin kept yelling – and he inhaled – exhaled – inhaled – exhaled – _inhaled _– and no relief – dancing spots – _aaah – _his body detached, drowning, and he was – needed to stay awake – he thought he was about to – and Gavin _screamed—_

And the air entered his lungs the moment his body gave up and _came, _harder than he expected, blotting all senses out except the bliss and the even more powerful euphoria of breathing and breathing and breathing and getting _enough air. _

Hands curled protectively over his throat, he barely noticed when the pressure of Gavin's body suddenly lifted, as he pulled out with a swift motion that brushed against sore muscles and even sorer skin. Miles couldn't see Gavin's face – couldn't summon the will to ask him just what the hell he had meant to do.

The answer was obvious.

He was busy measuring the fingerprints at his neck, wondering whether his cravat would hide them properly, when Gavin rose, all silent and sullen like a child who hadn't gotten what he wanted… or like a poker player who had accidentally revealed his hand. A towel was wordlessly thrown at Miles; another, tied around Gavin's waist as he moved to the en suite bathroom.

And then Miles found his voice.

"I'm not going to let you have him."

Gavin halted in the doorway. Slowly, he glanced back.

Miles' voice was rough and hurt, and his body felt like something that wasn't his – but he held Gavin's gaze all the same.

"If you want him, you're going to have to go through me."

They stood staring at each other for a moment longer, the words (spoken and unspoken) twisting the air with the tension they created.

Then Gavin turned his back on him, entered the bathroom.

His voice echoed as he replied: "Perhaps I will."

* * *

><p><strong>...I feel like this sucks, but, then again, I feel that way about everything I write, so who knows. <strong>


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